Linger
by LuiVougan
Summary: One day you will ask me which is more important—my life or yours? I will say mine, and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life.
1. Prologue

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary: **

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for…But no matter how far you go, the ugly past is only one step behind.

* * *

**Prologue:**

It is a miserable winter's morning, the yellow fog hanging so oppressively thick and heavy in the streets of London that the streetlamps were lit, casting a sickly glow on the pavement. A lone cab weaves itself rather swiftly through the narrow cobblestone-path, appearing as a black beetle glinting amongst the darkness.

A peculiar little girl sits on the smooth leather seating, her feet tucked under her as she leans against her father, the warmth of his jacket pressing against her cheek. He holds her steadily in his arms as she looks out of the darkened glass at the blurry shadows, a worldly thoughtfulness in her big eyes.

She is such a young child that one would not expect to see such an expression upon her small face. It did not seem logical for a child of twelve to have such a look, and Mia Kennedy is but the tender age of five.

The fact is, however, that she constantly fantasizes and dreams up unusual things; she could not herself remember a point in time when she was _not _thinking about grown-up people and the world they belonged to.

_But what world do I belong to? _The question weighed greatly on her mind.

It was evident that grown-up people perceived her as a _child_ of inferior knowledge, "to be seen and not heard". But no matter which way she gazed into the looking-glass, she could not see herself performing tasks other people her age were commonly "suppose" to perform. Coloring inside the lines, learning the alphabet, drawing shapes, it all seemed absolutely absurd and demeaning for her. She felt as if she had already existed for a long, long time.

At this moment, she is recalling the somber journey she had just made from her hometown in Cherbourg with her parents. She is thinking of the big ship, of the sea-wind bitter and salty against her tongue, of the children running to and fro on the carpeted aisles, and of the hushed whispers some passengers made as they watched her sit mutely in-between her father and mother.

'_Look at that weird **oddball**,_'a particularly rude gesture from a snooty woman to her friend. Mia had felt the lukewarm sides of her parents stiffen simultaneously against her arms.

She herself had felt a rush of heat rising to her cheeks as she sat there, staring down at her snow-white petticoat and silky pale stockings. Her shiny black shoes reflected her little face in a distorted fashion, and she had plainly concluded that she did indeed look quite _strange _and _odd_. Ugly, even.

The notion of this did not sit quite well with her as she tears her gaze away from the lonely streets and peers up at the handsome face of her father. He is facing away from her and in the midst of a heavy conversation with a lady donning short black hair; She sits diagonally from them with one leg crossed over the other, a business-like tone etched in her sultry voice.

Mia knows it is rude to intervene when the grown-up people are talking, but the question gnawed at her insides painfully like the time she had eaten undercooked steak at a priggish restaurant with its tablecloths of lace and frills.

"Daddy," she speaks in a solemn, quiet manner. She tugs lightly at the lapel of his heavy wool jacket. He pauses to look down at the child in his arms, her large doe eyes staring intently back at him in the exact identical hue. "Yes, honey?" he answers, smoothing down her raven tresses, an unconscious attempt at comfort.

"Why am I _strange_?" she asks, her voice resembling crushed velvet as she tilts her head inquisitively.

An annoyed scoff escapes his chiseled lips as the recollection of those two moronic passengers surface. He would have stood up and given them _a piece of his mind_, but the sensible side forced him to opt for a cold glare as he resigned to sit there, gritting his teeth. Causing a scene would not have been the best position to put himself into right now…or his family.

_Family. _Even now, four years later, the word sounded just as foreign upon his tongue as that night his eyes first fell upon the one-year-old baby girl. _His baby girl._ Before that day, the thought of being married, having children, living a family-life…it was unheard of.

With the risky life he led, each passing day on the job was akin to balancing on a tight-rope. One faulty step and he would go plunging down the vast abyss to an inevitable death. How could he ever consider allowing his own family to live with this risk? And even if he made it through the day alive, there was still the crucial issue of immersing all his time on the mission at hand…yet, all these concerns were shot to hell the moment he saw _her_.

What he really found strange was the fact that his priorities can take such an abrupt nosedive with the realization that he had unknowingly aided in bringing a life into the world. He would risk everything he had ever known to protect his daughter from harm.

Mia observes the myriad of emotions roll across his stormy-blue eyes, waiting patiently all the while for an answer. She has always known her father to verbalize his thoughts rashly and candidly regarding the majority of things. It was her mother that typically calculated each word that glides off her tongue, sometimes speaking with as much ambiguity as possible.

She could not decide whose response she would prefer at the moment.

"You are not strange, Mia," the woman leans forward, touching the little girl's hand with slender fingers, her mysterious pupils locked intently onto her daughter's. "You are simply different…_better_… one day, you shall see."

Mia deliberates over this answer, glancing at the soft hand upon her own, wanting to question this troubling matter further, but time would not allow her the luxury. _How can being different be better…?_

The cab is pulling to a stop beside the curve on the road. She shrinks back instinctively against the protective embrace of her father, a whimper creeping up her throat as the backdoor opens forebodingly. Her mother steps out first, deftly smoothing the wrinkles on her crimson trenchcoat, followed by her father, who turns to pick Mia up in his arms. She holds her breath, each stride upon the murky pathway drawing her closer to the towering brick-box that looms over them now, _daring_ them to enter.

Blackened steel gates slam behind them with a heavy clang; she has to repress the desire to bury her pale face in her father's neck.

A starkly-dressed woman meets them at the entrance of the building, her flaxen hair held back into a taut chignon, her features sharp and callous. "I am sorry, but this is as far as visitors can go," the woman apologized, her face expressionless. Mia already understands what is to take place, sensing the reluctant arms settle her gently onto hard concrete. He remains in a kneeling stance, his eyes level with his daughter's as he strokes her silky, raven locks once more.

"Mr. Kennedy, I assure you that this is a highly-secured facility," the woman cuts into the silent tension, impatience wearing down on her impassive facade. He nods dismissively at her words as if he had been informed of this many times before, and Mia would not have been surprised if he actually had; her parents had been discussing this day behind closed doors for many a night as she listened from under the quilt coverlet, her small body stiff with anxiety. She had picked up on vague words like _umbrella_, _experiments_, and _whisker_. She did not know what any of these nonsense meant, but for the rest of the week, Mia had nightmares of whiskered-umbrellas chasing her with their bloody axes.

Her father struggles to offer a comforting smile. In the end, it looked like a feeble grimace than anything. Mia pats his shoulder tenderly, the wool coat now rough and bristly against her palm. Her mother manages to pull off a smile fluently, as she always tends to do, bending at the waist to kiss her cheek. The lips feel like nothing against the numbness of Mia's face.

She looks up at her parents standing side-by-side, wishing they would suddenly alter their decision and take her away with them.

They didn't.

She beams brightly. "Do not worry about me. I know I will be quite happy here," the lie tugs agonizingly at the inside of her chest.

Later, she watches the retreating back of her parents as they made their way to the car, as they gave her one last wave, as they shut the door behind them. She watches even as the cab rounds the corner and disappears from view, lingering only until the woman latches onto her hand, pulling her inside.


	2. Forbidden

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary: **

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for…But no matter how far you go, the ugly past is only one step behind.

* * *

**Forbidden:**

"…Leon"

He chooses not to speak, pressing the back of his hand against the window absentmindedly. The snow had already begun to flutter before they reached the expressway. An image of a little girl stamping around in yellow rain boots catches his eyes, his knuckles turning white as the snowflakes freeze gently on the glass.

"Leon…"

No. He wants to ignore the lulling voice, the one that insisted him in returning to his pathetic reality. There was still so much left to be done. Wesker has been on the rise again, in the midst of securing Umbrella's once-bankrupted corporation…and searching for the whereabouts of his ex-agent…

Ada.

Even after four lengthy years of living by her side, she remains as much a stranger as the time he encountered her on that mission in Spain. The notion of this frustrated him, yet he could not walk away from her, especially now. They have a child together. They are suppose to be a family.

_Oh who am I kidding? _

No matter how doggedly he attempted to convince himself, Leon knew that this was not the way he had planned it. Hell, he never even planned on having a child, let alone with a person like Ada…

She had waited for him back at his hotel suite in Washington D.C. It was exactly the night he returned Ashley Graham to her worry-stricken father.

Leon was dead-beat exhausted, understandably. Barely able to unlock the frontdoor without collapsing upon it, he had staggered inside, sleep written all over his face. The whole of those few days were finally taking its toll on him. Before he could trudge over to his bedroom, however, he noticed that firewood was crackling merrily in the hearth, casting elongated shadows across the foyer.

There she was, dressed in her signature shade…red. Dangling a wine glass with one delicate hand, she had swaggered over to him as if she was the mistress of her domain, his name lingering on her sultry ruby lips.

His weary mind had begun fumbling for the right words, anything. He wanted to demand her where the Plagas sample was, what she wanted from him, why she had never bothered trying to find him after her miraculous survival in Raccoon City, everything… but the moment her velvety skin brushed against his body, all coherent thoughts vanished.

She had offered him the glass, nudging it gently against his pursed lips, a seductive smirk tugging at the corner of her own lips. The red liquid swirled mesmerizing in its goblet, and he distinctly remembered asking her whether or not it was poisoned. The venomous spite of his tone had not been lost on her.

Ada's smile had simply broaden then, gleaming, but she never uttered a word to him.

_A predator that has successfully caught her prey_.

He was in a vulnerable situation and he knew it, but he no longer cared. He had allowed her to tip the glossy rim as he began drinking greedily, the warmth burning a trail of liquid fire down his esophagus and straight to his loins. The warmth of her lips and tongue doing the same soon after.

A frenzy of hands everywhere. The wine glass knocked out of her hand, deep crimson spilling over the porcelain carpet. One moment he had her pushed up against the wall, the next she had Leon on his back, straddling him mercilessly. Clothes were flying all over the place. Desperate, searching hands for the other's bare skin. His fatigue forgotten, he allowed passion engulf him once more, igniting the fire he had long assumed to be drenched out. The sensation of her softness underneath his calloused fingertips, her sweet supple flesh, the exotic jasmine scent, it intoxicated him to oblivion… it still does.

Afterwards they had lied there on the ground, fully spent, chests heaving, the smoldering glow from the fireplace illuminating the sheen of moisture over their nudity. She had rolled over on top of him, her face dangling over his, the tips of her raven tresses caressing his cheekbones. Her dark eyes were enchanting as they stared hard into his, captivating him. It was as if she were trying to search for something, perhaps memorizing his every feature before she had to leave yet again. Her usually secretive gaze was so intense and brimming with unconcealed fervor that he hardly registered the fact that her pelvis was rubbing sensuously against his nether region.

"…S-stay with me," he had groaned out, trying to keep his voice steady but failing considerably.

Her only reply was a chaste kiss.

In the morning she had gone, the only evidence of their rendezvous was the lipstick mark on his white, button-down shirt. _The perfect lips_. He did not rinse off the stain, keeping it safely stashed at the back of his closet, feeling like a loser yet unable to bring himself to washing the material. It would have been like erasing the only good dream he had in such a long time since this entire nightmare of his life began.

But she was back the next week, surprising him by waiting upon his bed. The week after that, she had him pegged down while he was in the middle of a cold shower. And just when he was beginning to look forward to the end of every strenuous and mundane week of bodyguard work for _her _touch, she stopped coming around.

He had struggled to ignore the feeling at the pit of his stomach, forcing all his concentration onto every mission that was given to him by President Graham. He learned to focus only on his work, trying to forget about her. Her smile. Her eyes. But no matter what he did, he could not hide the unmistakable disappointment and hurt in his cerulean pupils when he gazed at his own pitiful reflection staring back at him.

After months and months of hopeless waiting, he finally got himself around to moving on, putting behind him the "bitch in the red dress."

_Of course, life loves to screw with me_.

When fate had caused him to run into her during a mission out in France, he had been **fuming**, to say the least. The fact that she had completely cut him off aggravated him and he dared not let her out of his vision, demanding her for an explanation, feeling more like a heart-broken fool than the time he had kept the stained shirt.

The only time he shut up with absolute shock was when she led him into a makeshift apartment, a temporary establishment she had prepared by herself… There, lying in the center of the polished crib was a happily gurgling baby, its small chubby hands outstretched towards him, its eyes the color of his very own.


	3. Attraction

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary: **

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for…But no matter how far you go, the ugly past is only one step behind.

**A/N:**

I just wanted to give a brief thanks to my reviewers so far, _Havoc-legionnaire, Alaska Kennedy, PerfectBlu,_ and to any other readers out there (the people that do not review... you know who you are). I have been thinking of getting a beta-reader, especially for later chapters that might include weapons/combat since I'm not quite adept at detailing those actions. Anyway, enough rambling.

**

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Attraction:

Silence.

The moment the door locks securely behind her, she can feel dread oozing over her skin. She peers up at this woman that is leading her through the maze of twisting corners. The corridor is dimly lit with ugly fluorescent bulbs hanging from its metal-plated ceiling, throwing shadows across the woman, effectively hiding the sneer on her face.

Mia looks away uncomfortably.

The hand gripping hers are cold and hard, resembling these slabs of cement for walls. She finds herself having to run alongside the woman just to keep up with the pace. All the while, her mind attempts to ward off the fact that her parents had dumped her into a prison. Occupying herself with memorizing their path, she creates a mental trail… just like that story of Hansel and Gretel her father had read to her once before… the trail of breadcrumbs will eventually lead her back home. _It must_.

_Straight…left turn…_

The woman is a robotic statue clad in a stark gray suit and black pumps, back erect, eyes strictly ahead. Their footsteps echo along the eerily vacant hallways.

_Right turn…up the stairs…left…_

A tingling sensation begins to encircle her small hand, slithering up her right arm as a snake would around its victim, coiling tighter and tighter…They stop abruptly and her hand is freed, the circulation that had been cut off rapidly returning. Mia touches her arm gently, watching as the woman knocks upon the glass of an ordinary wooden door. It appears out of place with the rest of the grayish scenery; the only door she had seen so far that did _not _possess an electronic access system.

She can hear a voice mumbling on the other side, and then a faint click as the door unlocks, standing ajar. The woman pushes her in first before following closely, leaving the door wide-open behind her. Mia is promptly led onto a leather armchair facing a massive desk on which piles of paper have been strewn over its glossy surface, spilling onto the floor unnoticed. She eyes a few of them, disappointed when she realizes that she can not decipher their random mathematical equations and incoherent scrawls.

A slim laptop balances precariously on the edge of the table and behind it sits a surprisingly youthful man; he is dressed in a gray-collared shirt underneath a pristine labcoat that he leaves unfastened as he leans back in his executive chair, a cellphone held against his ear.

The woman stands glued to the front of his desk. "Dr. Letzeiser," she addresses him formally, "the child has arrived."

He pauses for a split-second to acknowledge the new presence before nodding dismissively. Her job being done, the woman hastily turns on her heel and exits the room, bolting the door shut, abandoning Mia with this blond.

The man possesses a scrawny physique with pale-washed skin, making his dark eyes appear more dramatic than they really were. The coat hangs limply on his body, draping over his shoulders like a cape. His voice, however, is strong and thick, contrasting sharply with the unimpressive figure. He appears to be younger than her father and for a moment, she felt a slight twinge in her insides at the thought of her father.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair before speaking into the phone again, ignoring the young girl for the moment. She watches as his eyebrows furrow and all of a sudden he leans forward on his chair, slamming a fist onto the table; several more papers fly off and onto the cement flooring. Mia involuntarily jumps at the unexpected noise, taken aback by his sudden change of attitude.

He growls into the phone, "No, listen to me you _twit_. You have a 15-second delivery window; Either you're there with the precise specimen or you're _out_." He snaps the phone shut, disconnecting the call with a smooth incision. He slips the phone casually into his front pocket, tapping a few keys on the laptop, and then turns to look down his nose at his latest client.

He slides back his chair, drawing himself up to his full 6'2" height as he approaches her, scrutinizing her small frame with a critical eye, slight interest flickering across his features as a hunter would upon his freshly-captured game. Finally, he leans back on the edge of the oak table, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sits there impassively, her stocking-clad legs swinging back and forth slightly for she could not reach the ground yet. She observes him with her doll-like eyes, patiently assessing the current situation. At length he speaks, his voice toned down to a soft-spoken pitch as he grins wolfishly.

"Hello, Mia…"

Kneeling down to her height, he reaches forward with his left hand, the scent of sterile chemicals invading her nostrils as he extends an index finger to tilt her chin upwards, looking her over and analyzing every physical detail. The soft unblemished skin, round rosy cheeks, silver-blue pupils… "Perfect, utterly _perfect_," he murmurs to himself. He looks into those distinctive eyes of hers, burning into them with his own blackened pupils, hollow and detached. Mia represses the instinct to shiver, a tingling in her spine like she had felt in her arm just a few minutes ago.

"Now, _Mia," _he emphasizes her name, "do you know why you are here…?"

He is toying with her, stroking her hair with an almost salacious touch, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his pouty lips. Mia does not shift away from his thin probing fingers but she senses something not quite… professional about this _doctor._ She resists the urge to sink her teeth into the delicate fleshy part of his slender wrist.

Her blue eyes flash bitterly, "I know I'm not here for what _you _are thinking of, Dr. _Letzeiser_." He stops, gazing at her with a wondrous look upon his smooth, sharp features. A mask of composure descends over his face as he begins to chuckle amusedly.

_So this hybrid is more intelligent than I first presumed… Very well then, playtime will simply have to wait._

Standing over her once more, he maneuvers toward the side of the room, his long legs swallowing the distance in three strides. Reaching the glass medicinal cabinets, he proceeds to slide open the top drawer and bring out a needle syringe and a vacutainer tube. He pulls out a pair of latex gloves, snapping them on and wriggling his fingers for emphasis, watching for her reaction. He may only be in his mid-twenties, but Adam Letzeiser had dealt with enough _patients _to peel back their mentality layer by layer quite accurately.

And at this moment the 5-year-old sitting motionless in his office, pokerfaced, may be clever and sharp-tongued for her age, but she was petrified on the inside. He could practically _smell_ the fear saturating her glands, completely permeating her clothes. He shudders inwardly, mind a washed with lewd thoughts.

Smirking to himself, he grabs the needed materials off the counter and advances back to this extraordinary young subject before him. "Take off your coat and pull up your sleeve," he commands of her, his voice now serious and methodical. Mia responds to the order, never hesitating on her part.

_Just like her mother._

He works meticulously. She concentrates her eyes on the piles of papers atop his desk, feeling the cold wipe, a whiff of alcohol, a stinging prick, and then it was over. Pulling down her sleeve swiftly, she ignores the gauze pad he offers her.

Shrugging, he tosses the piece of cotton into the nearest wastebasket and carefully labels the vacutainer tube with a permanent marker. Slipping the test-tube into a biohazard bag, he presses a key on the side of his phone. Moments later, a woman in her mid-forties enters his threshold donning a white coat, buttoned firmly to the top. He hands her the bag, "take this down to the lab and leave it for _me _to do all the testing." She nods and leaves as discretely as she had came in, not even sparing a look in the child's direction.

Keeping the latex gloves on, he moves over to Mia again, a dark look draping over his angular features.

_"__Now where were we…?"_


	4. Silence

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

**A/N:**

Yes, I am still alive and more importantly, so is this story. I apologize for the prolonged delay as I had to undergo a change of hardware. What matters is that I now have a new laptop and wireless internet access (hallelujah!) As I am settling into this change between PC to Mac, expect more updates to arrive.

_Ada Adore: _of course I would not mind if you archived this story

**Silence:**

The apartment was not homey; no plants, no charming little trinkets, no colors.

A solitary couch leans against one side of the room, its white leather upholstery blending in with the wall. The only other piece of furniture is a double-glassed table, crouching on its chrome legs in the center of the flooring. Everything else had been stripped bare…there was nothing that made you want to enter the place, let alone stay.

"Welcome home, Leon."

With a casual flick of the wrist, bright fluorescent lighting floods the empty space. Not bothering to wait upon him, she proceeds to cross the lonely threshold, languidly slipping the keys onto the coffee table with a clang as she calmly sits down. The glow of white illuminates her skin and does not fail to cast a brilliant sheen across her dark tresses. Sighing faintly, Ada tilts her head delicately towards the ceiling; the musty odor of a room long unoccupied pervades her nostrils as she invitingly breathes it into her lungs.

Finally directing her attention towards the front door, she watches him like a satisfied feline from underneath long fringed lashes. She observes as he hesitates a moment before stepping foot onto the carpeting, half-expecting to set off a trap of poisonous daggers or detonating a bomb. A faint smirk caresses the corner of her lips as she eyes him sensually.

After nearly a decade that boyish innocence of his was still there, plainly apparent in those solid gray-blue eyes. Sure he may have grown more rugged and shadows were beginning to line certain facial features, but at the end of every day, he was still the same rookie cop Kennedy she had encountered in the basement parking-lot of the RPD. Pausing, she reminisces on how she had mistaken him for a mindless zombie, quite prepared to put a bullet through his skull; the memory brings a smile to her face.

_Those were the good ol' days._

There are moments when she discovers herself mulling over the surrealism of their marriage. In spite of these four years, the significance of their union was never able to work itself into her mind. No matter how tirelessly Leon attempted to "make things work," underneath all the formalities and the occasional tease, there existed nothing…nothing apart from a cold detachedness.

Even the most positive human being can contract a dose of cynicism whilst dealing with a woman like Ada Wong.

How many nights had she stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling aimlessly as the slumbering form of her husband slept on unaware beside her? It was during those nights that she wondered, caught between the bouts of hazy sleep deprivation and attentive restlessness, where the woman who had so passionately confessed her love had gone. Perhaps, one simply utters the strangest things when believing herself to be at the end of the rope.

And so she sustained this existence with Leon, living under one roof, under one mutual contract, feigning an image of the perfect family by the riverside of Cherbourg. The only link chaining these two driftwood together now was the child. _Their child. _Even the wedding ceremony itself had reeked of a legal agreement. There had been no need for her to dress up in a puffy gown, skipping down the church aisle as strangers tossed flower petals from the aisles. Just the thought of such a preposterous scene made her laugh.

_Wedding dresses look ridiculous anyway…who needs them…_

Instead, Leon and Ada had opted for a swift stroll to the local marriage registry in town. It was the safest and most logical bet that could be afforded to them. Still…behind the veil of consciousness, in the deepest recesses of her subconscious, there hides a sliver of curiosity at having a _typical _wedding…

"How long have you had this apartment?" A masculine voice successfully draws away her reverie.

She looks over at him, noticing the way his well-defined arms are firmly crossed over his taut chest. A look of wary suspicion is in his eyes. "Oh about eight years or so," she answers casually, fingering the leather armrest with lazy circles. "So you were stalking me the whole time I was working under President Graham?" he takes on an accusatory tone. This newly-uncovered fact would mean that she had been following him since before he was deployed to scenic Spain. More importantly, it would mean that for all the times he honestly believed her to be dead, _mourned for her_, she was but a mere few blocks from the White House.

The flash of betrayal across blue-gray pupils are not lost on her. "I was just doing my job," as if that clarified everything. Leon's expression fights to remain stoic, his body unyielding beneath the stiff black shirt. Will she ever understand just how deep a gash she has inflicted on him?

Silence.

"Come over here…" she entices him at length, lips pouting oh-so-slightly.

He sighed, dropping his arms limply to his sides, tiredness lacing his voice. "I'm not your lapdog, Ada."

"Shall I be yours for tonight then, handsome?" She teasingly asks without missing a beat, standing from the chair. Her movements are endlessly seductive, deliberately grazing his hand with the sway of her supple hips as she brushes past him towards the master bedroom. Pausing at the doorframe, she looks over her shoulder at him, shrugging off the trenchcoat. The crimson material pools willingly onto the floor, exposing her silky backless slip underneath. He knows already, even before his ravenous gaze travels down the expanse of soft porcelain…she has won, once again.

Strands of dirty-blonde hair fall over his stormy eyes as he averts his gaze from the display of her bare flesh, throat tightening considerably. He had intended on having a serious discussion after arriving back to the states, daughterless. But it seems as if such a conversation will have to be postponed till the following day. A trace of guilty shame knots itself into his conscience as he avoids her heated stare, but the damage has already been done. With only Ada's sultry lips imprinted into his vision, Leon shuts off the switch, drowning the room in darkness…


	5. Sabotage

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

**Sabotage:**

"Pretty little creature..."

He runs a finger down the side of her face almost lovingly, outlining the rosy hue of her cheek. A demented smile touches his lips as he murmurs the next words with a perverse undertone. "I promised your bitch of a mother I wouldn't hurt you, but there was never any mention of …_feeling you_."

Round blue eyes glared back frostily, standing out from the dimness of the office. "Don't. Touch. Me." She enunciates each word, gritting her teeth and appearing hauntingly sinister for a child. A mere five-year-old, for that matter.

The smile slips a notch at the obvious threat, but the eerie calmness of his face remains. His shoulders stiffen as he gives a shrug, standing up to his feet wordlessly. Suddenly, his features morph into a contortion of hideous rage. He grips her by the wrist and drags her across the room roughly, nearly hurling her onto the makeshift bed by the dark ringlets of her hair. She screams and struggles against his hold, sounding for once like the child that she really was, the panic flooding into her voice like a broken dam as Dr. Death looms over her bitter and unyielding.

"There, there," he tries to soothe her, false attempts that fall onto deaf ears as she persistently screams like a crazed banshee, scratching and biting. He slaps her hard enough to stun her for a few seconds, leaving him to conveniently shackle her into place on the medical examiner's table, the stained leather bounding her arms and legs. She continues to struggle against their grip, the thin but durable straps viciously cutting into her porcelain skin.

He is rough. Harsh. Brutal. Every time his fingers come into contact with her, it burns. The blistering pain scorches all the way into her core and freezes the blood that reside there, throwing her small body into spasms of agony.

"Not so confident now, are you?" he snarls directly into her face, spittle flying, "and we have barely just begun." He loosens his tie, eyes ablaze with feral lust, drinking in her powerless state like a starved beast. Ripping the lab coat off his shoulders with a violent gesture, he tosses it onto the metal chair beside the wastebasket. He leans back to admire the sight. "I guess I'll be breaking her orders…oh well, your mother is quite used to doing that herself, I'm sure. She may be a clever one when it comes to dealing with that sunglass-donning bastard, but not this time. Tsk tsk, she should have known better than to wholly trust a renegade Umbrella scientist…old habits die hard after all." He tightens the cuff over her wrist, observing with depraved fascination as the belt of leather seeps severely into raw flesh. A whimper escapes her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut against the throbbing, willing her father to break through the door.

A knock.

And another.

He pauses, withdrawing his hand from her still quivering body. "Come in," he calls out in a voice liquid-smooth. Readjusting his silk tie, he raises his eyes to the newcomer. A brawny man fully clad in combat uniform steps into the room, a semi-automatic shotgun strapped to his side. The heavy 'thud, thud' of his filthy boots tread across the tiled flooring as he nears the two. Casting a disinterested glance at Mia, he speaks up in a gruff voice. "There has been a breach in the security system, sir. All units have been temporarily put into a state of lockdown until further commands are received."

"Damn it! Another false alarm." The younger doctor furrows his eyebrows, lips stretched taut with frustration as he makes rapid strides towards the laptop. "The system has been consistently faulty lately for some unbeknownst reason…reboot the computer data and remove the lockdown code on all internal and remote stations."

"Yes sir." With a curt nod, the raven-haired gunman retreats to follow the orders of his superior. Dr. Letzeiser sighs noisily, rubbing his temples with lithe fingers. His effeminate features are drained of their animalistic vigor, leaving him pale and almost vulnerable-like once more. Dropping his hands limply to his lap, he gazes up at the little girl that was currently chained down to the table, blood trickling from the nips of the leather straps, staining her skin. Offering a tired smirk, he raises himself from the desk and moves determinedly towards her. "Let's just finish this, shall we?"

He makes a grab for her cotton, button-down dress when the sound of knocking splits the tension again. "Oh for _fucking sakes_, what the hell do you want now?!!" He snaps at the door, expression twisted with infuriation. No answer.

And then, the shriek of cracking wood flying off its hinges as the door is forcibly kicked open. "What the—!" Adam Letzeiser whirls around as the first gunshot roars across the hallway. The bullet sears his shoulder, leaving a streak that burns like molten metal across his flesh. Mia stares desperately through bleary eyes at the broad-shouldered silhouette that's blocking the doorway, his gun spewing flame. It was not the same man from before.

Another shell rips unmercifully into his side. The doctor gasps, the impact knocking the wind out of him as he looks towards the figure with disbelief. Mia is immobile, the ache of her binds temporarily numbed. The stranger raises his gun level to the other man's head before snapping the trigger back once more. Dr. Letzeiser simultaneously raises an arm in defense, effectively obliterating the fingers of his own outstretched hand before the last bullet strikes him squarely between the eyes. He collapses backward in a spray of crimson, landing on his back with his arms and legs outstretched, face frozen in death's blank stare.

The clatter of boots on the bloody tiles awaken Mia's senses as she begins struggling again, the stinging of her own wounds bringing her back to reality. She tenses as the floor shudders beneath her with the footsteps of the stranger, a gas mask disguising his features and making him appear strangely like an alien. Fear clings onto her as this creature tilts his head, as if studying her. The next thing she knows, a mask is being lowered onto her unwilling face and a sickening sweetness drowns her lungs, burning away the last of her consciousness.

And then she is gone.


	6. Fragments

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

**A/N:**

High School is finally over for me, so I thought I would celebrate by finishing & posting this chapter a little earlier than I would have planned (and my 18th birthday is next Tuesday!…Just thought I would shamelessly give myself a shoutout.) Thank you to all of the readers and reviewers out there who actually read this fanfiction.

Anyway, onwards with the story!

**Fragments:**

'Mommy…wake up mommy…please, wake up' 

_Ada stirs in her sleep, turning her head towards the sound for a second before groggily raising herself to a sitting position. Leaning her weight on one arm, a moment of confusion befalls her as she glances hazily about the room. It was actually quite small, but nevertheless, it bestowed a cozy atmosphere. The miniature lamp on her nightstand illuminated the creamy pine of the armoire and the matching dresser nestled comfortably by the corner. She was in Cherbourg, in her cottage home, in her own bed._

_She glances down to her left, a tender smile adorning her lips at the sight of his handsome face upon the pillow. His features are softened and dreamy as he laid fast asleep, his dirty-blonde hair appearing more of a rich gold under the glow of a lamp. A peculiar but entrancing feeling of warmth swells within her bosom, spreading and enveloping her body in its inviting embrace. She watches as her fingertips gently brush back the stray locks of hair from his forehead, silky and weightless that she hardly seems to be feeling anything at all…like skimming through air. How strange. _

'_Mommy…'_

_The angelic sound draws her away from such reverie and she stills herself, remembering why she had awoken in the first place. Gazing around the room, she waits with abated breath for the source of that voice. _

'_Mommy…please, don't leave me here…' _

_Peeling back the flower-patterned quilt, Ada tosses her legs over the edge of the mattress and stands up somewhat unsteadily, feet sinking into the fluffy carpeting. She pauses before the bedroom door; the insistent pleading was coming from the other side. Reaching for the brass handle, she lays a pale hand on the knob and pushes sharpl; it swings easily under her pressure. _

_All of a sudden, an invisible force yanks her from the safety of the bedroom, shoving her headfirst into the darkness. She does not struggle, but regains her balance gracefully; somehow, this all seemed natural to her. Before her pupils can adjust to the blackness, however, several fluorescent tubes activate overhead, its switch resounding loudly through the dungeon. She raises an arm to shield her eyes for a moment, finding herself surrounded by a strangely familiar place. 'No…it can't be…" Rows of compound microscopes and laboratory glassware wait upon sterile white countertops. Against the stone-covered walls lined shelves and shelves of steel racks, many of them containing test tubes filled with suspicious substances. _

_And in the middle of the area was her daughter, floating within a cylindrical tank. Her eyes were open, but glassy and unseeing as a porcelain doll's. The girl is submerged in an unidentifiable liquid as wires are strategically connected to her naked limbs like snaky tendrils. Ada holds back the revulsion as she stares at her 'flesh and blood' being utilized as some laboratory experiment. The acidic throb of bile rises at the back of her throat, threatening to spill forth, but she suppresses it and rushes forward to the child, banging against the glass futilely with both fists. "Mia! I'm here, I'm here now."_

"_Took you quite awhile, didn't it?" a voice drawls from behind._

_Her body stiffens at the sound but she keeps her back to him, "what the hell do you want with her?" He chuckles humorlessly before stepping forward to stand beside her, looking at the child with vague interest. "I think we both know quite well…" "—Leave her alone Wesker. She is worthless to you; use me if you have to."_

_He smirks at this, adjusting his sunglasses before casually slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit. "I already have, and what good __**that**__ did me. You are barely of any value to me now, Miss Wong…or Ms. Kennedy should I say? …Tell me, dear, how long did you think you could have lasted with that boy?" He turns to gaze down condescendingly at her supple figure, which was still scantily-clad in a black nightgown. Ada's own expression was utterly devoid of emotion. The only indication that he had struck a nerve were her clenched fists, which are trembling with barely-concealed fury as she gritted her teeth. "Much longer than I ever could with you, Wesker." _

_He sighs, resting a palm onto her bare shoulder in an almost sympathetic gesture. "You're not made for that kind of role, Ada. Your sole function is to be a spy, a cold-blooded killer…people like you can never function normally with society. You can never have a family, can never be a mother, __**never**__."_

_That was enough. She whirls around to throw a punch into that obnoxiously arrogant face of his, only to have her fist exit right through the back of his skull. Confusion hits her. 'A projection..?' The next thing she realizes, the bluish liquid her daughter was immersed in begins altering to a black crimson, the girl disappearing underneath the vile fluids. _

"_Damn it." Ada slams her elbow into the glass relentlessly, but not a scratch appears upon the glossy surface. There was no use; the encasing was too thickly-paned. Suddenly, the floor beneath her feet opens up incredulously like the jaws of some oversized creature, dropping her into its bottomless depths. She clings desperately onto the base of the steel-rimmed tank with both hands, crying out finally as her fingers slip from the sweat. "I'm sorry Mia I'm sorry I'm sorry—"_

"Ada!"

She jolts awake, disoriented and groggy. Her conscious comes rushing back to the surface as she pulls away from his touch, glancing around at the hollow room. The digital clock beside her glares 3:20 AM in neon red. She was back in her Washington apartment. A worried Leon with strands of hair sticking outward in odd angles peers through the darkness at her, watching bewildered as what little moonlight filtering through the curtains expose a trace of tears. He hesitantly raises a hand to brush them off her cheek, but her fingers close around his before he could get near enough.

"I'm fine," she merely replies, sounding entirely different from the despairing cries that had woken him up just seconds before. "…bad dream?" He offers at length, not knowing what else to say. Never had he seen Ada display such vulnerability, other than that one moment they had shared in Raccoon City. "Something like that," she replies vaguely, dragging her fingers through her hair. She had not gotten a haircut since moving to Cherbourg, and her sleek raven tresses now skimmed below her bare shoulders.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He presses on delicately. She looks away and effectively cuts him off, focusing on the curtains billowing faintly in the wind. "It's nothing a woman like me can't handle…go back to sleep." He nods at the words, but doesn't allow himself to believe them, not for a moment. Resting back down on the bed, he continues to observe her rigid form warily.

After a long stretch of silence, the rustling of bed-sheets finally signal her change in position. Her head hits the pillows beside his as she lays there on her back completely motionless, eyes tightly shut, listening to her own tumultuous thoughts. Through the distance of but a few inches, Leon can already feel that stone wall wedged between them climb higher once more. He could never understand why she always resorted to pushing him further the closer he came to understanding her. What had he done wrong exactly? Here he was doing his part in the secret service and toiling under the president, wholly prepared to sacrificing the rest of his life as a solitary bachelor. He had never asked for her to come back into his life…for her to rip apart all that he had established through the years.

…And yet, the moment their fingers intertwined in that marriage registry's office, everything just seemed to fall into place. The only explanation he could think of for such a phenomenon was that it had been a working of fate. She could continue to sashay around with an air of nonchalance as much as she wanted, but it was what he had seen tonight that reaffirmed she was no different than any other human being. Somehow, this precious notion gives him a renewed sense of hope.

"Ada…"

Silence.

"I know you're still awake." Pause. "Ada, you know you can speak to me if anything's troubling you."

A soft chuckle finally emits from the other side. "Sorry, _hon, _but I'm not the kind of person who engages in pillow-talk."

"Do you always have to be so difficult?" Leon sighs, exasperation lining his tone.

She nimbly turns onto her side and props her head up on her hand, staring intently into those gray-blue pupils, her lips tantalizing even in the semi-darkness. "Only when I want the other person to be a little rough with me."

He scoffs, unlocking their gaze, "be serious for once, would you…?"

"You're no fun anymore," she mockingly remarks, rolling over to use his naked torso as a headrest.

Leon arches an eyebrow in her direction. "There are more important issues that need to be dealt with," he retorts as he tries to ignore the feel of her velvety hair tickling his stomach, well-defined from relentless on-the-job trainings.

"And what, pray tell, may they be?" she queries with a flirtatious smirk, peering up at him inquisitively.

"_Our daughter_."

Her smile falters for only a heartbeat, but he catches it effortlessly. "What about her?" she asks lightly, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of his dark green boxers.

"I don't trust them with Mia," he bluntly admits.

She utters a cynical laugh at this. "Leon, you never trust anyone, myself included."

"And they don't even know anything about her," he continues, dismissing the preceding comment. "Just because they're not affiliated with the Umbrella Corp. doesn't make them instant good guys."

"Mia's much more protected overseas in an underground facility than out here in the states, where Wesker has potential access to countless resources if he so pleased," she reasons with him, her attitude logical.

"That still does not change the fact that they're a research laboratory experimenting with god-knows-what," Leon counteracts, a little harsher than intended.

She sits up again, a subtle trace of frustration passing over her face. "Will you just trust me, for once?"

The question would have been laughable had it not slipped from her tongue so earnestly in the impenetrable gap that followed. He had _always_ trusted her, even when that feeling in his gut shouted otherwise. True, she had bailed him out of a tough spot on numerous occasions, but she had also misled him on all the other times.

And as his searching eyes take in her alluring face, faintly tinted with moonlight as a rare look of bare intimacy reflected from her own eyes, he knew he would play the bleeding fool for many more times to come.

"Fine."


	7. Captivity

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

**A/N:**

**I wanted to apologize for the slow update; I had to return to Japan for my cousin's wedding on very short notice (and then flew over to Monte Carlo, Monaco for a short vacation.) Now that I am once again in NYC, I can get back to this story (I have missed writing, honestly.) **

**And of course, thank you to the people who reviewed, **_**Alaska Kennedy, Andrew Fisher15, Synch14, Vogue Dirge, PerfectBlu, Seven Drunken Pirates, Ada Adore, Mikhail, Havoc-legionnaire**_** and to everyone else out there that is reading this story. Please take the time to review, as I always enjoy a little commentary to keep me motivated **

**-M**

* * *

**Captivity:**

"Ada"

"Mmm…" she sighs sleepily, turning her cheek from the soft mound of pillows towards his husky voice.

Gauzy curtains were drawn back, allowing the brilliance of dawn to illuminate the sparsely-decorated room. She gives an uncharacteristic groan of protest, squinting her eyes to shield them from the light.

"Good morning, my love." The voice continues, drifting nearer. Such sentiments trigger her rosy lips to tilt upwards in a smirk, though eyes remain closed as she senses the man's presence by her bedside. He is unable to look away, his steely blue-gray eyes drinking in the sight of her perfect form underneath the sheer silk negligee, the lace of semi-translucent fabric beginning just below the small curve of her back, revealing alluring skin to his thirsty gaze. The luminous glow of sunlight cascades onto her bare skin that he longs to touch once more. Reaching down with a skilled hand, he barely skims over an exposed arm, warm under his fingertips.

A sigh of contentment emanates from her as she stretches with feline grace. Peering up at him from underneath half-lidded eyes, a sensuous smile begins to form. "You haven't called me that since our wedding night…what changed?"

Leon grins boyishly before sitting down on the mattress. "Just you," he replies honestly, leaning down to capture her mouth with his own in a chaste kiss. When he finally releases her, she arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow, scrutinizing his clean-shaven face. "Really now…?"

He just smiles knowingly before moving to place a tray table over her lap. "I made you some breakfast," he states matter-of-factly, watching as Ada stares down at the silver platter perplexed. A freshly-prepared dish of Eggs Benedict and a steaming cup of black tea stares back at her, the tantalizing aroma making her mouth nearly water. "By the way, did you know the only thing you have in your fridge is a bottle of red wine?" He nudges the polished cutlery toward her hand.

"Of course; I was saving it for a special occasion," she answers offhandedly, pouring hollandaise sauce onto the poached eggs with nimble fingers. "So is there any particular motive for…_this_?" She gestures at the food before reaching for the knife, spreading butter onto the toasted English muffin with quick, fluid strokes.

Why did he? After almost five years of hiding out with the spy, never had he thought to prepare breakfast in bed. Ada has always been the first person to rise with the sun, promptly heading off to do her daily morning routine and leaving for "work" at exactly 7:30 AM. He, on the other hand, ends up being awakened by Mia, whose already dressed and waiting patiently for him to make her favorite breakfast, Pain au Chocolat. If there's anything he learned from having a family, it was on how to cook. When he was still operating under President Graham, he barely knew how to fry an egg without burning the underside. Now he is constantly catering to his daughter's whims, from hot hors d'oeuvres all the way down to desserts.

But he rarely cooked for Ada, since she stops at her preferred café to and fro town each day. So why the sudden change of pace? Has she really changed, like he said, or was it just he who changed?

Leon observes as she raises the muffin to her mouth and takes a liberal bite, coming away with some hollandaise on her chin. Chuckling a little, he grabs a napkin off the tray and wipes it off with a swipe of the hand. She pauses before giving him a genuine smile, and he notices the faint indentation of a dimple just above her left cheek. Funny. He did not remember seeing that before.

In reality, the imperfections of a person are only things that you come to see with time. Admit it; when you first fall in love, the other person appears to be perfect with almost an air of mystery surrounding him or her. It is this quality that entices you closer…but you don't truly see how perfect someone is until you can see how faulty they are, inside and out.

Ada's face seems to be like a Greek statue, absolutely unblemished and smooth. This was how Leon S. Kennedy thought. But as she sits up against the pillows now, taking a light sip of tea from the mug, he finds himself looking at her in their lighted bedroom. Really looking.

She has a small scar right over her left temple—barely perceptible and usually veiled by dark tresses, but nevertheless, it was there. Sometimes when she had just awaken, her eyes appear swollen and her hair is a chaotic mess. And when she sleeps, she always manages to steal the blanket, leaving him to fend for himself.

Every time she showers, she leaves the bath towels laying around for him to pick up afterwards. And when she eats dinner, she always uses a fork to divide the food into neat little sections on her plate first.

At the moment, she is tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, oblivious to his gaze. He notices that she's biting her bottom lip, which she tends to do whenever she is deep in thought. When she gets annoyed though, the scar on her temple throbs with her pulse. She hates the smell of smoke but she loves to drink, never going to the point of intoxication. She likes mixing vodka with coke, with juice, with anything. When she eat cakes, she always uses her fingers, whether it's with cheesecake or tiramisu; she says they're almost like brownies, so why not use your fingers?

She enjoys kicking him in her sleep. Flipping through pages of magazines, she would stare at pictures and paintings as if trying to unearth a hidden meaning. At times, she rereads sentences over and over again.

He hates how she ignores him when he's looking for a straight answer, and how she resorts to playing little mind-games just to elicit a reaction. He hates her taste in music and the way she crosses her legs so that slit on the dress would slide higher up her thigh, leaving other men to stare in fantasy.

But surprisingly, he did not care.

He did not care that she gives vague answers, nibbles on her lip, or hogs the bed. None of that. Leon smiles faintly to himself as she finishes her last bite, dropping a few crumbs as she did so.

He is in love.

* * *

_Drip_…_Drop_… 

_Drip…_

_Drop…_

Beads of water echo across the moldy walls, slowly slipping through air, splattering onto the dingy concrete whose paint wore off long ago. Faint sounds of breathing resonate throughout the chamber and its single inhabitant, curled up in a fetal position against the damp stone.

She wills herself to fall asleep, to go into a coma, anything that would take her away from this place. In spite of the attempts, such pleasant escapes elude her motionless form. The girl wonders half-heartedly if this is just another state of dying.

_So tired_…

Her passiveness towards death hardly seemed appropriate for a five-year-old, but she would have welcomed it nonetheless save for the image of her parents creeping into the edge of consciousness. What would they say if they were to see her laying here, admitting to defeat without a fight?

Shaking her head feebly at the empty cell, "N-no, I won't…" she whispers in hushed tones. Alas and with great effort, Mia forces open her sore eyelids, silver-blue pupils quickly dilating in the murkiness. A cell door greets her hazy vision, the dancing shadows cast onto it by a single flickering torchlight. This was _not_ Letzeiser's office, that much she is aware of.

…_Dr. Letzeiser_…

Struggling to bring forth the last several hours to her muddled mind, she pictures once again the towering silhouette, the gunfire, the blood. He was dead. Through the gloom came a flutter of relief, struck almost immediately thereafter with an unmistakable anger. Her large doe eyes darken considerably; a look of betrayal as small fingers clench into two pale fists.

'How could your _mother_ willingly discard you with that monster?' the voice in her head questions, lathered with bitterness. Mia already knew from her knack for eavesdropping that Ada had been the one to insist on leaving her behind. Mia only harbored a suspicion that their hasty departure from France was somehow connected to the home invasion weeks prior. Though when she brought this to her parents' attention, they only gave a flippant remark of some "grown-up business trip." Bull. Why must everyone treat her as an ignorant child? Why must Leon and Ada fall silent every time she walked into the room? Why must the _only_ two people that claim to love her the most repeatedly feed her lies upon lies?

Mia stares down at the dirtied smock she had been changed into, the stiff fabric scraping against her sensitive skin. She never thought to doubt the legitimacy of her parents before. Growing up in a modest dwelling of Cherbourg, a coastal town and also France's third largest naval base, she had always assumed their family to be like any other. Her father works as a patrol officer for the local station, and her mother owns a florist shop by the marketplace. For as long as the little girl can remember, which was around the age of two, these were the only jobs they occupied in their lives. Nothing was suspicious. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Then came that particular night. Upon return from a rare family-outing, they discovered the inside of their home to be thoroughly ransacked. Shards of shattered vases and antiques littered the wooden flooring, shelves and tables were kicked over with the contents emptied out, even the interior walls of certain rooms had been completely smashed in. Nothing was spared of damage, not even poor Mr. Teddy who had his stomach hacked open, the stuffing spilling forth. He had been Mia's only precious possession, but she did not spare him another thought that night. There were more important matters at hand.

In truth, nothing seemed to be missing. Ada's jewelry, especially her anniversary gift, an intricately-crafted butterfly adorned with precious gems, still laid in its velvet case out in the open. The small box of gold coins Leon kept in his bedside drawer were strewn over the mutilated queen-sized bed, but none of it had been stolen.

Why would someone burglarize a house and leave behind all the goods? It was puzzling, but nothing baffled her more than seeing the near-panicked expression on Leon's face…even Ada could not resist the troubled look in her brown eyes, which tended to appear grayish-green at odd intervals. The two had rushed off to the cellar then, as if dragged by an inexplicable force. There was nothing downstairs aside from cardboard boxes of junk piling around, to the best of Mia's knowledge, but it was a disturbing instance as she stood alone in the midst of the debris.

Moments later both returned empty-handed, their faces shades paler than usual. Truth be told, she was curious to know what they had found, but she never quite found the courage to find out for herself. Whatever it was that they discovered, it had been troubling enough to call for a complete relocation. And now, her seemingly perfect family-life has gone utterly topsy-turvy. The thought of it causes her throat to tighten as she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, fighting the sting in her eyes. 'Oh Teddy…I really do miss you…'

Feeling the tears slip down her cheeks, she promptly erases them with the back of her hand, angry with herself. No good can come of sitting here and crying. She has to find an escape first and foremost. Peering around the dank and windowless cell, she searches frantically for anything that caught her eye, that can be used as a means of escape.

A loud crack breaks her concentration, making her small frame jump in unconcealed fright. The bolt in the door pushes back and slides open, bright light piercing her surroundings and temporarily blinding her. Suddenly he is there, a black shadow against a wall of flame…


	8. Anticipation

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

* * *

**Anticipation**

"Get Up."

Distant. Commanding. The words itself barely audible from behind a gasmask, but the tone suggesting business. Treading deeper into the cell, he moves with eerie assurance, observing the small child under a cool detachedness. Mia rises unsteadily to a stance, squaring her shoulders at the intruder and disguising her fear beneath a layer of rage.

"What do you want with me!?" she spits out like a bad aftertaste, small face molded into a perfect scowl. Even as she speaks, her body betrays her by edging backwards, spine soon meeting against the crumbling wall. The cold, slimy stone seeps through her make-shift smock. _Trapped_. The intruder ignores her outburst and corners her effortlessly, blockading the only escape route. With a gloved hand, he raises it to his neck and peels the mask up and over his head.

Mia stares in stunned silence…_it was a woman_. One with dark-red hair and eyes of an indiscernible green tint.

Cold. Calculating. She catches the startled expression and leers in response, crouching just enough to peer eye-to-eye with the child. Both gaze steadfast as if to size each other up, determination weighing down the clammy gap between them. "What is your name?" she finally inquires, her full-toned voice carries an accent that Mia could not recognize. For a moment the girl seems to allow a tremor of unease trickle forth, but then it is gone again and she is stubbornly refusing the question, gritting her teeth in a defiant gesture.

'_Hmph…another foolish brat.' _Chuckling humorlessly, the woman briefly wonders whether the use of torture can be applied to get the ball rolling. She decides to switch tactics. "…The sooner you help me, the sooner I can help you find your mommy and daddy."

Despite the artificial sugar that practically dripped off this promise, the child's face lightens up impulsively at the mention of parents. Common logic bids Mia to hold back and proceed with caution. '_How can I trust someone who has me locked up like a caged animal?_' She grimaces at the thought. '_Still, there is nothing else I can possibly do…for now.'_

"…What do you want?" she speaks with resignation, her voice unusually weak; a bleak contrast to the heated demand just moments before.

"_I want you to tell me your name_," the woman reiterates, enunciating each word with dangerous precision.

"My name is Mia Kennedy." There. She had answered truthfully.

Accepting the response, a rigid nod is rewarded to her before continuing, "and the names of your parents?"

There is a sliver of hesitance at this, her mind beseeching her tongue to stop. "Leon and Ada Kennedy," she finishes with wary vigilance, naïve eyes peering uncertainly into prowling green orbs. A peculiar look of interest passes over the woman's features as she mentally mulls over this new bit of information, trying to determine the accuracy behind it. In one fluid motion, she straightens up to adjust her sleeves and leave.

"Wait!" Mia calls out quickly, a desperate hopefulness escaping her voice, "does this mean I will see them again, soon?"

A fleeting laugh from the other's lips as if on a cue. She turns away, the leather boots sounding heavily onto concrete as it nears the exit. "They will be _joining _you soon enough."

The cell door slams shut, bolt locking into place. Satisfied that she has discovered something worthy to tell her superior, she begins the passage back, listening with blatant amusement to the muffled screams that sporadically emit from other cells. Rows and rows of tightly-sealed prison chambers flanked on either side of the dungeon.

Sweeping past the security doors at the far end, a surprisingly immaculate elevator bank greets her entrance. The sudden change of scenery is welcoming as she smacks the arrow-shaped button over the nearest one. Seconds later, the door slides open noiselessly. Locating the metal panel of buttons, her index finger depresses for the proper floor.

As the soft tinkling of elevator music plays through invisible speakers, she catches her own reflection gazing back contemptuously. Donning a black and grey uniform with a layer of Kevlar in addition to a tactical vest, her own frame seems slightly smaller than it actually is, a reason most people underestimated her raw strength.

But Elena Guischard is not a delicate woman by any means. Between her broad shoulders, strong forearms, and sturdy body, she can be a very intimidating force. Her deep maroon hair was cut short for practical purposes and her face, although faintly weathered, still holds a vibrant glow of youth. It is only the viridian pupils that look hardened, reflecting her own lifestyle over the years.

The elevator cruises to a stop and the familiar "ping" sounds as the number 3 lights up over the door, revealing an empty skywalk. She proceeds onto this narrow catwalk, which is wrapped completely in thick, one-way mirrored glass. Pounding rain flails futilely from all three sides, amplifying ten-fold by the hollow space…but she pays it no heed, noticing another security door twenty yards across. A much more complicated-looking mechanism was guarding this one. Without another thought of her appearance, she steps onto the skywalk with an air of composure, well aware that two security cameras are catching her dead on.

At the other end, she slides her ID card through the slot. A beep sounds and an electronic voice of a female is heard. "Retinal scan required." Elena raises her eyes to the small, round scanner on the door, seeing the flash of neon red. A buzzing fills the skywalk as the door activates. "Welcome Lt. Guischard."

Taking a step, she enters a labyrinth of hallways and rounds the right corner, spotting two DW Enterprise members dressed for combat up ahead. The sound of their filtered breathing is unmistakable.

The pair had on traditional black and grey camouflage of DW, complete with black helmets and flak jackets to protect their torso. On their sleeves stitched a white armband with a three-point star, the main symbol. Their faces are concealed behind gasmasks, which has a filter on the front and the other to the left, just short of the ear. A small antenna sticks up from the right side of these helmets as they continue down the hall with their Uzi in hand, oblivious to her presence.

"Why the hell are we wearing full gear on a babysitting job?" one of them asks through his mask.

"Command says to be ready at all times," replies the other. It is hard to tell who is talking and who is listening.

"This is bullshit. I'm tired of smelling nothing all day and I'm sure as hell tired of seeing red from these stupid goggles. I swear these things are ruining my vision!"

The one on the left shakes his head, "keep bitching and the Lieutenant will have your ass on gate duty."

Little do they know that she is trailing but a few paces behind. Luckily for them, Elena chooses to ignore these "expendable grunts," as Wesker prefers to call them.

Usually, she is about as caustic in personality as she is in appearance. Brought up in an authoritarian household, Elena Guischard was the only daughter of a Polish guard and had easily fell in with the other guards at an early age, mimicking their behaviors and learning to drink, swear, and fight from them. Favoring harsh, direct language over subtlety, it comes to no surprise that she finds melodrama a bore, particularly if romance is involved.

But no matter what endeavors she undertakes, Elena is constantly striving to prove she's most capable, driven onward with an insatiable craving to beat everyone else down, reveling time and again in the taste of dominance over their undoubtedly pathetic weaknesses. She scoffs inwardly at the thought of those individuals, her mind flickering with blurry reminders of old conquests. She was never one to dwell on the past. No. It is only the here and now that should be of any concern to her. Everything else is just a waste of time…a hindrance in her pursuit of power.

Naturally she finds her position in this corporation, however new it was in its formation, quite fulfilling. And with Albert Wesker's own power rapidly coming to fruition, the generous heaping of rewards will only prove to be more succulent.

* * *

He slips off the stuffy gasmask, breathing in the stale odor of sweat and nicotine clouding the air. Setting a booted foot onto the metal chair, he leans over the desk to pull out a cigarette from its cardboard encasing. '_She is ten minutes late already.'_ He casually retrieves a lighter from the pocket of his vest and proceeds to flick it open with one hand, dipping the other end of the cigarette into its trembling flame.

Leaning an elbow upon his raised knee, he inhales deeply, watching as the smoke billows up only to dissipate seconds later. The agonizing cries drifting from the adjacent room fail to elicit a response, sounding like mere background noise to him. He stuffs the tin lighter back into his pocket, taking a moment to study the new patch on his sleeve. It was a three-point star composed simply of double-edged blades and symbolically defining DW Enterprise. The two letters stood for _die Wiedergeburt,_ meaning "The Rebirth" in German.

'_How appropriate,'_ HUNK sarcastically notes, looking up just as the door opens to reveal a stony-faced Elena.

He takes one last drag of the smoldering stick before tossing the rest to the floor and crushing it beneath his boot. "About time," he mutters gruffly.

"I had a word with one of our new prisoners." A blunt response as she clasps her hands behind her, peering through the one-way mirror with little to no interest at what's on the other side.

HUNK already figured as much. It's not every day they go around snatching healthy five-year-olds from laboratories; most of their prisoners have reached puberty at the very least. "What did you get out of the kid?"

She seems not to have heard him as she placidly monitors the interrogation, a roguish grin slyly parting those pallid lips. "It seems that we have Ada Wong's daughter."

'_Ada Wong…what a small world.' _Hint of a twisted smirk begins to tilt at the edge of his own lips, azure eyes intently scrutinizing the lieutenant's back. "Wesker's old spy?" He rephrases the question to a statement, fingering his TMP that currently rests across the table like a dead weight. "Wesker is going to be pleasantly surprised at this…"

"I know," Elena lightly assents, whirling around to watch him from across the floor. The dimly-lit area surrounding them softens her sharp complexion, their only source of light seeping in from cold fluorescent tubes in the next room, casting an ethereal glow upon her face. He finds himself strangely unable to break away the gaze. No one says a word. She looks away first.

"Whose the woman?" she tosses a thumb over her shoulder dismissively. The momentary lapse of tension is over. He glances sideways casually before answering in his usual neutral tone. "Caitlyn Gold, a small-time nurse at a local hospital and the girlfriend of Adam Letzeiser, head scientist of the bioengineering department DW dispatched."

"The ex-girlfriend" Elena corrects, satisfaction evident in her voice, recalling how she had shot him with a .44 magnum point blank. "So she knows which companies he had associated with and where the remaining ones are located."

"Well, if she does, she isn't saying," he counters plainly, shrugging his normally stiff shoulders.

Elena raises a finely brow at him, "she just needs some coaxing to get her facts straight." Exiting with a flourish of sinister intentions, she moves onward to the interrogation room.

* * *

The room is naked and unfeeling; bare save for a metal table that has been nailed down, three chairs, and a wooden stool onto which they shove her. 

The two men were breathing down her neck for the past hour, employing uses of traditional torture in order to force her into submission. She is a small woman, petite in her frame and a bit on the thin side. Still she had fought back valiantly, refusing to let her suffering flesh speak for her. Angry red welts continue to blossom and bleed profusely from her exposed back where they had savagely lashed. She keeps her eyes downcast, the muscles in her back spasm involuntarily from the pain.

"Dismissed."

At the corner of her eye she can see one of the men nodding at the order, the angular-faced male that had been administering the whipping. Despite the throbbing stings, she manages to shake her head haughtily, speaking her first words since being taken hostage after they ransacked the apartment. "It's no use. You're not getting _anything _out of me." "On the contrary, _Caitlyn_, I am here to make a deal with you." This new voice seems genuinely obliging as the owner of it takes a seat on the other side of the table.

She lifts her head slightly to acknowledge the stranger with a guarded expression. "…What sort of deal?"

Elena answers in straightforward fashion, "your information for Dr. Letzeiser's freedom—"

"_Bullshit_," Caitlyn hisses bitterly with unbridled vehemence as raw as her wounds, "_Adam is dead_." The note of accusation is not lost on Elena.

"Now, now, why would I kill someone useful like Dr. Letzeiser?" She reasons in a condescending manner, toying with the keys in her hand. "The information means nothing to you anyway, so why keep it a secret? …Is it really worth more than the life of the man you love…?"

Caitlyn fails to notice the smug expression as she mentally toils over the thought of Adam being alive, _her Adam_…_oh how she misses his kind smile…his caring touch that still manages to create sweet shivers just by thinking of it. "Forgive me," _she whispers faintly to no one in particular, then in a louder voice, "H-hostira and Raitheon; t-they are the only companies that I know he had been involved in."

"And their locations," Elena presses on, impatience beginning to scratch at the surface of her composure. "The longer you take, the longer your boyfriend has to suffer rotting in his cell."

"Hostira's in the Barossa region of Australia. Raitheon is in Yokohama," she breaks down. Clutching at her knees, she stares Elena in the face with a sudden renewed determination. "I gave you what you wanted, now give me Adam back."

Elena observes the nurse for a second longer before saying it like a joke, "you were right. He's dead."

Silence. Caitlyn stills her trembling form, disbelief contorting her unblemished face, waves of pain and longing rolling over her countenance. As the realization of the deceit becomes obvious, an agonizing wail wrenches free from her throat and she lunges forward blindly, preparing to tear the woman's eyes out. Even as the guard restrains her and fastens her wrists securely together, Caitlyn continues screaming like a banshee. "Bitch! You evil, horrible bitch!" she screeches, kicking and shrieking expletives, "all you do is _kill innocent people_!"

Elena watches the upheaval without so much as batting a single lash, walking over to scrutinize the younger woman's mousy appearance. Finally, she tosses a flippant comment to Caitlyn. "Dr. Letzeiser was just as responsible for killing innocent lives; you obviously didn't know him too well."

"LIAR!" she snarls back with uninhibited animosity, "he was a righteous person!"

Elena stifles a snorted laugh at this, "just because he ate you out before sticking it in, doesn't make him a good man." Seeing the look of near maniacal fury on the woman's face is well worth the remark, but what Elena did not foresee is that she would be spit upon.

Glaring but repressing the urge to shoot the damned woman in the same technique she had shot Dr. Letzeiser, she nods to the guard maliciously, "dispose of her."


	9. Eden

**Linger**

**Disclaimer**: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom.

**Summary:**

Leon and Ada may be committed to opposite sides, but they share one crucial objective: their 5-year-old daughter, infected with the T-Virus. In order to protect her, they will have to sacrifice everything they have ever worked for, but no matter how far they run, the ugly past is only one step behind…

* * *

**Eden**

She awakens alone.

The thunderstorm that had rattled shoddy windows for a good part of the night finally gave up the ghost, leaving behind gray clouds to linger stubbornly over the treetops. She shivers, rousing tiny prickling of goosebumps along her exposed arms and shoulders. Sneaking into the bedroom from a balcony door left ajar, the draft spews air so frigid and damp it's beginning to feel more like autumn than early April. She untangles her slender limbs from the duvet, quite gracefully considering her current state of conscious. With a sigh, she sidles closer, trespassing an invisible barrier that separated the left and right sides of their mattress.

A pleasant surprise. The bed is still warm where he slept, but the air surrounding the empty space is cooling, its sensation laving gently across her naked skin. Tracing across his indentation in the ruffled bedsheets with her fingertips, Ada rests her cheek over the velvety material, feeling rather spoiled the past few days for indulging so heavily in sleep…and Leon.

But all was not well. No matter how well she attempted to suppress it, a perpetually nagging _guilt_ exists at the corner of her mind; it ebbs and flows like a living, breathing _thing_, with a beating incessant enough to have driven any weaker-minded person to madness. And it would not let her go. She could not, her reality constantly reminding her that _this is highly inappropriate behavior for a spy_.

_'What do I think I am doing?'_

She is not on some romantic honeymoon getaway. There was no extravagantly-lavished hotel suite with mirrored ceilings and a cheesy-looking bed in the shape of a heart. What exists was a small efficiency apartment that she paid the landlord handsomely for on one condition: he stays out of her way, no questions asked. The place has seen better days. With a façade of sun-bleached pink stucco, the building itself is a bastardized mix of Spanish colonial and art deco. The interior walls, once a pale shade of white, now takes on an unnaturally yellowish tint, peeling around the corners from neglect. The quality of the furniture makes the room bearable, although not by much, and is blanketed with at least five year's worth of dust accumulation. Only the mattress had been spared of the dust bunny invasion; she had thrown a heavy plastic film over it just before leaving, uncertain at the time on how her plan will unravel itself or what her future would entail.

'_And I still don't know.'_

Her eyes stray toward Leon's white bathrobe draping innocently over the banister of a leather armchair, concealing the SW1911 handgun just beneath its fleecy chenille fabric. She should know. She has an identical one in the perfect shade of red hanging on a hook in her closet, right beside her assortment of 4-inch heels, a semi-automatic rifle, and six cases of ammo. The other rifle is cached under a panel below the kitchen sink, which reminds her, she needed to get that leaky pipe fixed before the whole damn place floods and attracts unwanted attention from the second-floor tenants.

Despite years of separation from several old hideouts, Ada possesses an uncannily solid memory and could recall the precise locations of each weapon in all seven of her apartments, from the S&W sigma pistol hidden below the cherrywood dining table to the glock 35 strapped onto the underside of a toilet tank lid…

'—_but I can't even remember my own daughter's favorite food…does she even have one…?'_

Ada turns bitterly from the thought, suddenly feeling quite sick of herself. _The bed is cold now_. She rises with a renewed sense of urgency, moving across the room and wrenching open the closet with such harshness it bends and creaks in protest. Avoiding the crimson robe, she reaches instead for a silk pencil skirt and sweater dangling from the twisted metal hangers. A flash of stainless-steel slides catch the edge of her vision and she knows exactly what it is, waiting there at the bottom of her closet, taunting the Asian spy with scathing wickedness.

"You can not hide from us, Ada. Morality has little place in your heart…or what's left of it…"

She shuts out the mocking voice and rests her back against the door for a moment, gathering her wits about her, inhaling faintly the scent of mothballs mixed with _fear_. Hastily she resumes dressing, thrusting her arms into the creamy cashmere with near reckless abandonment. A disturbingly familiar anxiety is coursing through her veins now; she wraps her arms around herself, forcing back the cold around her. Within her.

'_To hell with this—I need a drink.'_

Years of discipline has allowed Ada to achieve a certain level of mastery over her emotions, and she was grateful for the talent at this moment. Her demeanor morphs to one of relaxed neutrality as she slips quietly into the narrow hallway. With only the shadowy blue hues as her guide, she saunters across the living room and into a modestly-sized kitchen. Pausing in the dimness, she rummages through white thermofoil cabinets for a glass, coming out empty-handed each time.

'_Not the time for dining etiquette_.'

She jerks open the refrigerator; a bottle of Château Montelena perches at the center of the top shelf, the LED bulb shining over it like some absurd spotlight. Snatching the wine none too gently from its nest, she yanks the cork off, a satisfying 'pop' providing short relief from the humming of her fridge.

The otherworldly glow of this small alcove illuminates the ceramic tiles, spilling forth across Ada's supple figure as she settles onto the marble-top island, crossing one leg over the other with natural poise. She leans back on one arm, the other hand lifting the wine bottle to thirsting lips. Tilting her head up, she welcomes the first taste of bitter sweetness. The richly-colored liquid flooding her mouth as she desperately seeks some unbeknownst release, a honeyed flavor of black currant jam lacing her tongue, hints of cherry underneath its many layers. Intense and pure. The dark garnet caresses the back of her throat as she takes a long, deep swig.

**-S-**

The morning is going to be a dreary one. A fine drizzle adding to the fog as the pitter-patter of rain hits the rusty railings. She watches absentmindedly, leaning against the doorframe of the balcony and crossing her arms over her chest. The shallow awning juts out awkwardly, providing barely-enough coverage from the droplets.

In the back room, clanking of pipes and running faucets can be heard. She imagines him in the shower now, running the soap over firm skin and stroking the ragged edge of a scar just under the shoulder blade, a pale crescent of flesh among many others, reminders of who he was and where he's been. He doesn't want to think about it.

The creaking of pipes stop for a moment, replaced by the sound of off-key whistling. Ada does not hold back a smile, listening to Leon's lack of ability in carrying a tune. As she turns from the balcony door, a subtle glint holds her attention, lying like a lost jewel in the corner of the terrace. She stares at it in silence before sliding the screen door open, stepping out into the rain. The cool sheen of water feels good on her heated flesh, freeing her from a smother induced by the alcohol's false warmth. Moving to get a better look, she recognizes the shards of a broken glass. The fragments that litter the cement, carefully preserved in time as if waiting her eventual return. She kneels over the small pile to retrieve a piece, turning it over with nimble fingers. Touching. Remembering.

* * *

_And she is awake, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, tearing herself from the bed and out into the bathroom, just making it to the toilet before her stomach rebels and she vomits, spasms tearing at her insides, dry heaves of bile and exhausted turmoil. Her fingers clutch the rim until knuckles turn white, finally reaching to flush down the contents of last night's dinner._

_She struggles to her feet, the effort leaving her impossibly drained. Taking several shaky steps, she moves closer to the mirror, hands reaching out to grasp the edges of the sink, steadying herself. A lanky-haired woman glares back, face pale and haggard under the ugly yellow fluorescents. There are bluish-purple smudges that lay like bruises beneath her eyes; her pupils themselves were dilated, glittering like wet onyx stones. This was not normal. _

'_Am I…sick?'_

_No. It could not be possible, not after Wesker's "treatment" of her injuries. Sicknesses like the flu became trivial insignificances that had no effect on her anymore. The injection of T-virus into her bloodstream had made sure of that. She stares at her pallid forearm now, the veins clearly displayed with sickening clarity. If she studied it long enough she can almost see the virus itself, weaving and writhing like a poisonous snake through these very capillaries. _

_He told her it had been necessary. _

_When he located her in Raccoon City, she was already on the brink of death and presumably dead from the severe bleeding. Her heartbeat had stopped for a minute or two before the injection finally did its work, healing her with an amazing rapidity that traditional medicine could never have achieved. The virus had given her immune system a 90 higher improvement as well as significantly increasing her agility. These two attributes had been the most noticeable, and only proved to enhance her usability._

_This was Wesker's main motive in taking such measures to revive her back to health; she was invaluable in that she "lacked the vapid sentimentality" many others seemed to have, or so he said. Even his former colleague, William Birkin, had succumbed to love and family…and look where the man is now. _

_She does not like to dwell on the past. The Raccoon City mission had been a part of her life that she considered dead and buried. Still…was the T-virus backfiring on her now? _

_A wave of nausea crashes through the pit of her stomach once again and she fights a losing battle to hold it at bay. Pressing her sweaty palm against the mirror, she turns her head from the reflection, unable to bear the sight of her now frail appearance. Avoiding the situation is no longer an option. She had to see a doctor, but where? A hospital was out of the question, and there was no one else she could trust enough to turn to…unless… _

_He was a fresh-faced young man and a brilliant scientist, barely in his twenties. Adam Letzeiser, the latest recruit for Wesker's personal team of researchers. Naïve and eager to please…but more importantly, she knew he lusted after her. It was obvious by the way he openly stared up and down whenever she happened to pass him in the hallways after conferences. _

_Wesker was already away in a facility on some remote region of the Pacific islands, no doubt researching the fake sample she had retrieved. It will only be a matter a time before he discovers the "Las Plagas" he holds is nothing more than a harmless organism put together by the Organization. Before then, however, he remains oblivious to her condition. All the better._

_She enters the six-digit code into the console, stepping aside as a telltale 'hiss' releases the door-mechanism and it slides perfunctorily aside. The hanging lights inside the near-vacant laboratory have been turned off, leaving only the bluish glow of several monitors to keep the area visible. He is sitting at one of the back tables with only a styrofoam cup of stale espresso to keep him company, fully engrossed in his work, the LCD screen reflecting off his youthful visage as he types feverishly about one experiment or another. _

_The drive here has depleted what little energy she left reserved and she sways on the balls of her feet now, her clammy fingers clenching into fists. "Letzeiser," she hisses snappily. The young scientist bolts upright at the interruption and gapes at her, immediately rising to his feet in alarm. "Miss Wong! …What happened to you!?"_

_'Hmm. I must look pretty horrible if he can see my current condition all the way across a dark room.' _

_The young man rushes over to her side before urging her down onto the nearest chair. She accepts without protest, the rushing sensation of blood within her limbs leaves her oddly light-headed. Not one for a little tête-à-tête, she gets right to the point. _

_"How much do you know about the T-virus, specifically the one in Wesker's bloodstream?"_

_Adam looks at her strangely for a moment before admitting with caution. "I have done some research on the effects it can harbor, and Wesker has provided certain reports he made on the virus…a-are you infected?" He seems to be scrutinizing her with more wariness now._

"_Since 1998," she replies with a sardonic smile._

_A genuine look of surprise descends over his features, but it was not the time for story-telling. _

"_My health's been deteriorating, and I need to know the exact source and reason." She raises the sleeve of her navy blouse to the elbow, exposing her albino-like skin to curious eyes. "Here, take my blood sample," she instructs, voice firm and controlling despite the tremendous weakness she is experiencing. He obliges without a word; she is above him in the corporate food chain, after all._

_By the time he is done and sliding the needle from her vein with skillful hands, she can barely keep her conscious going. He disappears from her field of vision and she finds herself powerless to shift her own head, unable to even follow his movements with her eyes. _

_So tired. _

_She fights to remain focused. _

_A gentle lulling croons over and over in her mind as she lays immobile upon the cot…a specimen on the dissecting table. Adam's voice in the background soon becomes a murmuring drone of gibberish, dulling the final remnants of her senses. Time itself ceases to exist. With a fluttering of eyelashes, she surrenders to the exhaustion._

**-S-**_  
_

'_Ada'_

"_L-Leon…?" Whisper of the name leaves her lips in a breathy sigh as she comes to, peering up at the man that looms over the side of her body. _

_Brown eyes stare at her inquisitively but decides against raising any questions. He doubted she will give him a straight answer anyway. "Miss Wong. You should be getting better soon enough," the voice is one of professionalism as he moves from sight again. "I administered some antibiotic injections, and there's a container of pills you will need to take three times a day for two weeks. Your physical condition should return to normalcy in the next several days."_

_She moves to sit up, feeling more vitalized already. Turning to regard the scientist with a slight tilt of her head, she notices that he is leaning against the table, observing her expectantly. His dark eyes easily betrayed his attempts to withhold the excitement simmering to the surface, threatening to boil over.  
_

'_So readable…people like him can't last too long in a place like this…'_

"_What's the diagnosis, doctor?" she drawls out casually. _

"_Miss Wong, your blood tested positive for high levels of hCG."_

_She may not have majored in biology, but she had enough knowledge to know that she did not like where this was going. "A…hormone?" Pushing off the counter with both hands, she lands lightly to the ground and begins to approach him, her earlier weakness forgotten, moving suddenly with all the dangerous fluidity of a black panther._

_"Correct. The human chorionic gonadotropin; a hormone that is only produced by placental tissue, meaning—"_

_"—That I'm pregnant," she finishes quietly, then blanching as she realizes what she has just uttered. Her nerves quiver and jolt at this revelation, not unlike a dose of electroshock therapy. _

'_I'm pregnant…' _

_Pregnant. _

"_Yes, 4-5 weeks."_

_Denial._

"_How can this be?" _

"_I'm guessing you had something called sex." He lazily replies, shutting up when her feral eyes narrow menacingly. "Umm right," he clears his throat, "well, the T-virus, as you probably already know, affects the organs no matter how low a dosage the human is being exposed to. It renders the reproductive system incapable of proper functioning, making fertilization virtually impossible…a probability of less than 0.0001 in fact. However, in this particular case, it seems as if your body has somehow managed to override the effect of the virus on your uterus."_

_So she ends up pregnant…_

"_Do you know what this could mean in terms of advancements for the T-virus?" he babbles on with an eagerness that triggers in her a nauseous revulsion._

"_I can hardly fathom," she notes sarcastically, heading toward the exit, swiping the pills off the countertop as she went. "Oh, and you will remain silent about this entire situation," she offhandedly reminds over her shoulder._

"_What do I get in return for that?" He remarks snidely, folding his arms over his chest with cocky arrogance. _

'_Ah, naïve __**and**__ greedy. A combo that's destined to bring him to his own corrupted demise one day.'_

_She half-turns with a knowing smile, giving him a perfect profile of her figure against the shadowy backdrop of the laboratory. "100k. Cash. And your life."_

_Adam Letzeiser barely needs a second to absorb this, "deal." They don't pay newcomers well enough here, no matter how brilliant. "And the embryo?" He blurts out to her retreating back. _

_Her mind was made up. She looks at him for a moment. _

"_Abort it."_

**-S-**_  
_

_­­­­­­­­ _

_Today is the day._

_My hands nurse the mug of scalding black coffee before me, tracing the smooth-glassed rim as gently as I can manage. Everything seems so fragile today, brittle as the leaves that are withering under my bare feet. I nudge at them lightly, hearing the dry crackling of the petal between my toes. Frustration. I stand and move from the metal table, leaving the mug to cool over its reflective surface. _

_The iron railing stings my bare arms when I lean against it, but I am too tired to care. I have spent the last two nights sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the blackness outside my window. Sleeping just took too much energy and I needed to stay awake more than anything else right now...I needed to stay awake to do this. _

_Today is the day._

_No more dawdling around. I have to do this, I must. My sight wavers and I force myself to look down, running my palm over the nonexistent bump. I can not feel it, can not see it. But I know it is there, underneath my cotton blouse, underneath my skin. It is floating within its sac, constantly growing and feeding off of me. A parasite. _

_I can not allow this to prolong. There was simply too much at stake here. The pregnancy itself is an unstable one. For all anyone knows, there can be a creature developing within me. _

_A frigid chill bites at my skin and I pull the wool coat tighter around me in response. There is no comfort. _

_Even if the fetus were to somehow end up being a normal baby with two arms, two legs, and one head, I can not take care of it. I am a spy. This is the only role that can come to me as natural and instinctual as breathing. Nothing else. I can never bring up a child on my own, can never be an ideal mother. _

_This baby._

_This 'thing'. _

_I don't want it in me._

_Hate._

_I despised it. This 'thing' was destroying my concentration, ruining my work, killing me from the inside out. _

_Anger._

_In a rush of emotions that I rarely witness, my hand snatches at the mug, coffee sloshing, and hurl it across the balcony. The defenseless cup hits the railings squarely and smashes onto the floor, bits and pieces flying in all directions. I stare in silence, feeling the fingers of my left hand burning painfully from where the liquid had spilled. There is no satisfaction. My hate burns a pain far larger than this exhibit of weakness. _

…_Then why do I feel regret? Guilt. Remorse. Responsible. My body tenses in answer and I breathe in the gust of air, my heart rate finally rising since my last encounter with him... _

_**Leon.**_

_That simple word alone creates a longing sensation deep within my gut. A feeling that swallows all the confused emotions and thoughts whirling through my mind, smothering it until there's nothing left save for the phantom image of his face. It is a grinding ache that never ceases to haunt me. Everything I felt for Leon was beautiful, sad, poignant, _right_. And the thought of having something that is a piece of him, a part of his entire being…living inside my womb…it felt…right. _

_I have to do this, I must. Turning from the balcony, I make my way towards the bathroom once again, the fluorescent lights greeting my tired but determined eyes. Two yellow bottles balance against the edge of the sink, waiting. I pop the caps off, pulling them both up to eye level, rereading the typed-up labels that adhere to its plastic coating. _

_600 milligrams of mifepristone._

_400 micrograms of misoprostol. _

_Today is the day._

_I tip both containers, watching fixedly as the round white pills drop from their safe little haven to the toilet in muted 'plops'. Though flushing down the abortion pills may be the worst mistake I could have done, seeing them disappear down the hole…a sensation of absolute peace falls over me._

* * *

Ada tosses the piece of glass back into the pile and moves to stand, realizing that the rain has completely soaked through her sweater now, clinging like Velcro to her shivering skin. She steps into the bedroom and shrugs out of her sweater, letting it fall to the hardwood floor in a wet heap. Clad only in a black bra and pencil skirt, she moves to sit by the bedside, glancing at the digital clock on her nightstand. 

'_One more minute.'_

The clanking of pipes help to reaffirm that her husband is still in the shower.

Reaching down she slides open the bottom drawer, revealing a leather portfolio of files and reports, a private communication transmitter attached to the top of the folder. It was a recorder she utilized to keep her data files up to date with her alliance to the Organization. She arches a delicate brow as a familiar sound calls to her attention from within the portfolio.

'_Right on time.' _

She pulls out a plain-looking cellphone, typing in the access code with quick strokes before bringing it to her ear.

"Miss Wong," an indistinct voice addresses from the other end of the line. "The subject has been transported and relocated to Wesker's facility in Berlin."

"Am I to retrieve her?"

The other party senses the impatience in her tone. "Not until the signal has been given. Do not let your emotions define your assignment, Miss Wong," it reminds her.

"Understood," she replies dryly, flipping through the report in her hand. "Is the government agent to know about the current state of affairs?"

"That is a choice you will have to make. His partnership could either help strengthen or jeopardize the future of the Organization. We trust that you will pay close attention to the amount of information being disclosed to him."

"Of course," Ada responds, her honeyed voice smooth and velvety.

"Remember, it is highly essential to keep ahead of Wesker's moves. Thwarting his plans under whatever circumstances must remain on your mind, Miss Wong. I trust that whatever you do in the near future shall be to our benefit?"

The connection clicks off, bathing her in silence.

* * *

**I aimed to make Ada's perspective in the chapter show how she is still in a constant battle between right and wrong. Let me know what you thought, and please don't forget to leave reviews. Part of the reason why I write is for the sake of an audience, and without feedback, I won't know how I'm doing! Nothing boosts a writer's spirits more than criticism of any variety, so please take a few moments to put in your two cents in the review section.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Author's Note

**Author's Note: **

To my fellow readers and reviewers alike, I am truly sorry that this is not a new chapter to Linger.

I have indeed been stooped with college work for the past weeks…pre-med really doesn't give you much time to breathe, does it? There is a lot of textbook reading that I must catch up on, so I have not been able to really sit down and concentrate on the next chapter of Leon and Ada's story (and I hardly think that just tossing in a half-hearted post for the sake of updating is a good way to continue Linger.)

Because of this, I plan to keep the story on hold for now…but fear not, there _will_ be another chapter! (At the moment, I am hoping for Thanksgiving break) For now, though, both my organic chemistry and bio genetics books are trying to claw their way out of my closet. Farewell!


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